


The Clothier to General Washington and The Magenta Eyesore

by gyuumajo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Beginning of a beautiful relationship, First Meetings, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Nebulous History, Out of Character, that I'm not gonna write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyuumajo/pseuds/gyuumajo
Summary: A torn sleeve brings Jefferson to Mulligan's shop (Thanks a lot, Hamilton!)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashilrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/gifts).



> Ah yes... the Jeffercules that has been plaguing me for months.  
> [Heeding Kookookarli's wise words](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/87466849), I decided to just write it and nope. That's it. That's the whole story.  
> You must really squint and tilt your head just right to see the M/M.  
> I'm also most likely getting the timeline of historic events wrong so please just go with it.
> 
> Unbeta'd as usual.

RIIIIIIIP--

The entire cabinet ceased its caterwauling.

Alexander Hamilton eyed the torn fabric in his hand with a mix of horror and triumph.

Thomas Jefferson eyed the torn fabric in Hamilton’s hand with a mix of horror and disbelief.

George Washington eyed the torn fabric in Hamilton’s hand with a mix of disappointment and amusement.

Everyone else eyed the Secretary of State and Secretary of Treasury with a mix of trepidation and anticipation.

 

After doing a pretty accurate imitation of a piranha out of water, Hamilton raised the hand that was still clutching the piece of magenta cloth, flapping it at Jefferson’s face.

“It’s not even that badly torn! You can fix it easily!”

Jefferson bobbed his head in time with the flapping piece of fabric, reaching out and snatched it out of Hamilton’s hand when it swung closest to him.

“This? Is not badly torn?! You took the entire sleeve off my shoulder, you freakishly strong troll!” The Secretary of State all but screeched at his cabinet battle opponent.

“If you had just gotten better clothes, this wouldn’t have happened!” Hamilton consciously tempered down the urge to cower before the tall angry man, especially when he knew he was in the wrong this time. Of course, he overcorrected and made the other man angrier.

“I’ll have you know this is the height of French fashion. Not that you would know anything about it, Mr Fake Royalty,” Jefferson seethed.

“Enough!” George Washington’s voice cut above the steadily rising commotion in the cabinet.

(And right before Hamilton opened his mouth again, noted Jefferson)

“I will not have this cabinet devolved into name-calling today. I cannot also allow this cabinet session to continue when my Secretary of State is in such a state of undress,” Washington gave a slight smile that he quickly covered up with a cough. “This meeting is adjourned for the day.”

He beckoned for everyone else to leave except the two Secretaries. Once everyone else had left and the door to the meeting room was closed a final time, Washington sighed. He took the sleeve from Jefferson and slipped his glasses on to examine the torn stitchings. Fingering the fabric, it felt worn despite the quality of the cloth (even Washington could tell the quality despite being as untrained as he was). Either Jefferson loved his eyesore of a coat very much or he had not bought a new coat in a while. Since his wife passed away probably.

With another sigh, he removed his glasses and returned the sleeve back to Jefferson.

“...Hamilton is right--”

“Of course he is,” Jefferson huffed under his breath.

“Hamilton is right,” Washington cut above Jefferson’s muttering. “It’s an easy fix. The sleeve just needed to be sewn back and it’ll be as good as new.”

At Jefferson’s skeptical side-eye, Washington scratched at his cheek in slight embarrassment. “Martha taught me a thing or two before I left for war. Had to patch some shirts myself.”

“Ah…”

“Look… Why don’t I send you to my tailor and let him fix it for you,” Washington suggested, a brilliant idea coming to mind. “Why don’t I send Hamilton to bring you to him, seeing as it’s his fault and my tailor is also a good friend of his.”

Hamilton leapt out of his seat. “Absolutely not! I’m not letting Jefferson anywhere near him! He might blame me for blinding him with this magenta eyesore!”

Washington levelled a flat stare at Hamilton. He didn’t even have to call him out this time for Hamilton to acquiesce.

 

“I’m warning you, don’t you dare be rude to him. He is a good man who had done so much for our new nation at the expense of his reputation and good name. We only recently gotten his neighbors to stop egging his shop,” Hamilton grunted in frustration. “Why don’t they believe he was only providing his services to the redcoats to steal information for us?!”

“...Wait,” Jefferson stopped in his tracks. “You’re bringing me to Hercules Mulligan? THE Hercules Mulligan?!”

Hamilton yanked on his shirtsleeves as if he hadn’t already yanked off one sleeve just hours ago. Jefferson jerked his arm back, transferring the torn coat to be tucked safely in the crook of his other arm and away from Hamilton’s grabby hands.

“Which Hercules did you think we were talking about?! Do you know of another Hercules who is a tailor that spied for the government?”

Jefferson shot Hamilton a withering glare. “Of course I know of Hercules Mulligan. Madison wrote to me about what happened the day after the evacuation of New York! I just didn’t know he was Washington’s tailor, is all...”

“Well, here we are,” Hamilton turned to Jefferson, raising a finger in warning. “You'd better--”

“I know, I know. Don’t be rude to Mr Mulligan. You owe pretty much your entire adult life to him.”

“How did you--?!” Hamilton exclaimed in shock. How did this francophile who spent basically the entire war in France know of his relationship with Mulligan?! Even though he wasn’t wrong in that Hamilton did owe the older man a lot.

Jefferson just waved it away with a flippant hand. “I have my ways.”

“...Lafayette told you didn’t he?”

Before Jefferson could admit or deny Lafayette’s involvement (the Marquis totally told Jefferson), the figure scrubbing at the shop windows turned around with a bright smile.

“Hamilton! You ol’ rascal! I could hear you a mile away. C’mere!!” Hercules Mulligan pulled the Secretary of Treasury into a hug.

“Big…” Jefferson whispered in awe. Whether he was referring to Mulligan’s biceps, his chest, his voice, his personality or his something else, no one could tell.

Hamilton, on the other hand, was thumping his fist against Mulligan’s broad back, a muffled “let me go!” and maybe even a strained “need… air…” escaping from where his face was pressed to the other man’s impressive pecs.

Mulligan finally let Hamilton go after another squeeze and a full belly laugh.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Must be busy being the Treasury Secretary and all. How have you been?” Mulligan turned his attention to Jefferson with a polite smile. “And who did you bring me today?”

“Hercules, meet Thomas Jefferson,”

The Clothier to General Washington extended the hand not slung across Hamilton’s narrow shoulders towards Jefferson.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Mr Jefferson,” The smile turned slightly awed. Jefferson returned the smile and shook his hand.

“Warm…” Jefferson jolted when Hamilton kicked his shin. “I mean, the pleasure’s all mine, Mr Mulligan.”

 

Hamilton watched their exchange with a growing sense of alarm. This cannot be happening… His benefactor to whom he owed a life debt to and his archnemesis were making googly eyes at each other. Ew!

  


End.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if I need to update tags, check spelling and grammar or never write again.


End file.
